One Chance, A Million Questions
by Quinn Arthfael
Summary: When the team is called in for a seemingly normal case in New York, Reid finds himself becoming attached in ways he never thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

**New story! Yay! There is a lot of "first name/last name" switching among the agents so I apologize if you are not familiar with their names! But other than that ENJOY!**

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"Morgan, get the team together for a meeting," I overheard Hotch say as he walked past Derek's desk. He grabbed a file off the tray sitting on the corner of the desk and continued on to the conference room. I sat up as Derek went to tell the rest of us. He gestured to Emily and JJ to follow; they were looking at a separate case file and conversing in hushed tones. JJ stood first and smoothed out her gray jacket. Her blonde hair was even brighter against the muted color of the fabric.

"Something wrong, Spence?" she asked and I snapped back to reality, realizing that I had been staring. Her blue eyes shined brightly and I noticed that she wasn't wearing too much makeup; it made her look classy.

"Sorry," I smiled and cleared my throat, "just lost in thought I guess."

She laughed lightly and nodded towards the conference room. "C'mon, Kiddo."

As we walked into the room I saw Emily rifling through a manila folder that contained some photos. Derek was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets; Hotchner stood by the window facing outside while he talked on the phone.

I pulled up a chair and was sitting down when JJ walked up to the front of the room. Derek and Emily came to attention and focused on her. I glanced over at Hotchner and heard him mumble a quick goodbye before shutting the phone and seating himself near Morgan. "Do we have Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"Right here my darlings," Garcia said over speaker phone.

JJ cleared her throat and began to speak. "We've been called in by a local police station in a suburb outside of New York City to help in the investigation of some murders that have been going on for the last year."

"A year?" Morgan asked, slightly shocked. "And they've just contacted us now?"

"Garcia, do you have information regarding the past murders?" Hotch questioned, directing his gaze to the speaker sitting in the middle of the table.

"I am pulling up the information as we speak," she replied. There was some silence from the other end as we waited for what she had to tell us.

The sound of footsteps reached my ears and I turned to see who was coming in.

"What did I miss?" Rossi inquired.

"Garcia is looking up facts from cases in the past year," I muttered quickly.

"We've been asked by a station in a town called Jefferson to assist in the investigation of some ongoing murders," JJ added.

"So nothing new," Rossi stated. He sat in a chair next to me and leaned back so the chair made a creaking noise. Folding his hands behind his head he let out a small grunt and winced. His back must be hurting him again.

"Ok," Garcia said as she came back, "the wonderful bringer of knowledge I like to call 'Moi' has found some info to share with all the worthy followers."

"Garcia," Hotch scolded lightly.

"Sorry, Sir. JJ, my dear, will you show them the picture I'm sending you?" JJ pushed a button on the small remote she was holding and a picture blew up on the screen behind her.

The screen showed a picture of a man who laid on the ground on his back with his palms to the sky. His eyes were closed and his face looked somewhat serene. He wore no shirt, and there seemed to be no markings along his muscular torso. From what I could see there was bruising and ligature marks around the neck that were a mixture of deep blues and purples.

"As you can see our victim was strangled. From what the ME reported the cause of the markings are from a wire about a quarter of an inch thick," JJ said with gestures towards the man's neck.

"Is he a John?" Prentiss asked, finally speaking.

"Negative," Garcia answered. "His name is Owen Matthews, found dead in his home in Jefferson. He was 34 at the time of the murder, which if you haven't been told yet occurred on May 17th of last year. Our next victim was found six months later right on the nose." Another picture popped up, the scene almost identical to the first. "Chet Carlson, 35, was also found in his home, this time on November 17th. Report says that he was gone by the time the paramedics got there."

"Who called the police?" Rossi piped up; he was no longer leaning back in his chair.

"Neighbors reported a disturbance around 11PM and contacted the local authorities," JJ said, her tone still even despite the images we were all seeing.

"Is that the same for both of them?" Morgan inquired.

"For the first two," she said.

"Garcia, can you pull up both pictures at the same time?" I wondered as I furrowed my brow in concentration.

"Hold your horsies, hon, there's more." At the click of the remote button two more pictures came up. "On your left is Tayten Moore, 34, and on your right is Aaron Richardson, 36. They were found within a week of each other."

"Were they found in their homes as well, Garcia?" Hotch asked, his voice firm.

"Only Mr. Moore, Sir."

"The authorities say that Richardson was found in between his home and his neighbors. They have already talked with the family and couldn't get much information on the night he was killed," JJ pushed another button and all the pictures were on the screen at the same time.

I stood from my chair and went to examine the screen more closely.

"When we land we will conduct our own interview. Morgan, you and Prentiss will go and talk to the neighbors of each victim. JJ, as soon as we get all of our information straight we can start to prepare a profile to give out to the agents of Jefferson," Hotchner ordered.

"Garcia, can you zoom in on all the victims' necks?" I asked, still staring at the screen.

"Sure can, Kiddo."

The photos of the crime scenes all zoomed in on the injured necks. In the indentation between their collar bone and esophagus was a small scrap of paper. "Does the report have anything listed as being found on the victims?"

Some silence, then, "It says here that on each body there was a small scrap of photo paper that looked to be cut from a larger piece."

"Could we have a signature?" Morgan questioned.

"Maybe," I started, "normally when UNSUB's leave something behind like this it means they're trying to send a message. Garcia, are all the pieces collected?"

"You would be right in thinking that."

I turned to the team, "I'm thinking that's what's going on here. See, I noticed that all of the victims had no shirt on, yet there were no signs of mutilation or violence towards the bodies except for the ligatures around the necks. Also, all of their hands were faced palm up."

"He wants them to feel defenseless," Rossi said.

"Can we be sure that our UNSUB is a male so early on?" Prentiss asked.

"Men tend to pick their victims on the amount of status they would receive after the kill," Rossi added. "All of our vics seem to be of the same muscular build. If they were all strangled from behind it would take a lot of force to take someone like that down."

"Maybe we're looking at a team," Morgan suggested.

Rossi shook his head. "No, this is too personal."

"Because of the picture pieces?" Morgan questioned.

Rossi nodded and looked at Hotchner. "Would you agree?"

"I think that you are probably right, but it would be unwise to rule out anything until we have all of the information."

JJ cleared her throat and we all looked in her direction. "They've asked if we could fly out today."

I glanced at Hotch and saw him exhale slowly; he was obviously tired and I wondered if he had been hoping to go home this weekend. He stood up from his chair and took in a deep breath. "Everyone grab your go bags, we take off in an hour," and with that he left the room. We all followed suit and JJ shut down the screen.

An hour later we were all sitting on the plane on our way to JFK International Airport. I had started a game of chess with Rossi and was confident that in three moves he was going to make a mistake that would allow me to capture his king. Derek was talking with JJ and Emily, and Hotchner was staring out the window, keeping to himself. I still hadn't quite adjusted to Gideon not being with us, but Rossi seemed to be taking his place rather well. He was experienced, which is just what our team needed, and he didn't hesitate when it came to making decisions.

I watched as Rossi made his move that he had been contemplating for several minutes. His fingers grasped the head of the queen and picked it up gingerly. He slowly brought it over the length of the board and set it down with a satisfied smirk on his face.

I guess I was wrong. He wasn't going to make the mistake in three moves, he made it in one. My eyes shifted around the board and I made my move rather quickly. "Checkmate."

He stared at the board for a few moments and then looked at me with his glittering brown eyes. "Are you sure there's a young man in there? I feel as if I'm playing against the grand Wizard of Oz."

"Are you calling him a sham, Dave?" Morgan asked with a small laugh.

"I'd prefer that over old and senile," Emily teased lightly.

"Did you know that during the filming of the movie Judy Garland's dress was actually pink because it made filming in Technicolor easier?" I asked everyone. Morgan stared at me and started to laugh. He shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

"Oh, Reid," he sighed.

I was slightly confused at why he was laughing, but I didn't let it show. I was used to this reaction from the team when I gave them information, and I wasn't about to let it bother me now.

"JJ, can you give us the rest of the details about the case?" Hotch requested, his serious tone breaking the cheery moment we were sharing. I knew that things were becoming worse since his and Hailey's divorce, but it seemed unnecessary to take out his frustration on us. I brushed those feelings aside. There was work to be done and my mind needed to be at its full capacity for concentration.

"Sure," she replied. She picked up a bag off the floor and pulled out a file folder. "Besides what Garcia already told us there really isn't any more information I can tell you," she said, flipping through the pages contained in the folder.

"I still want to know why we're just being called in now," said Morgan. I could see where his bewilderment was coming from. Normally, if we're called in for a case we are given a reason for why.

"From the looks of it it seems as if they assumed things were quiet enough for a while that the UNSUB wasn't going to strike again. Then when the second murder occurred they put all their efforts into investigating once more. When things got quiet again-"

"They went back to half-ass work," Morgan said in a snarky tone.

"Derek," Hotch scolded.

"Sorry, Boss, but this irks me. These small town stations feel like they can't do the work, but when they call us things will magically work out. Sometimes it's like we're just the last resort."

"Technically we are," Prentiss commented.

"Actually the last resort would be to call the Department of Homeland Security and the C.I.A. to come and investigate," I stated. It was important for the team to know these things. Not that I was correcting her to show superiority; I hold everyone on this team at the same level as me.

"I still find it suspicious," Morgan argued.

"No matter what we think about their actions we are here to do our job, and if that means being the people to pick up the broken pieces then so be it," Hotchner said in a manner that signaled the end of the matter.

I noticed Morgan let out a small huff as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. I wonder what has him so upset.

When we landed at JFK we took two black suburbans and headed off to Jefferson. I sat in the lead car with Rossi at the wheel, Morgan in the passenger seat, and Prentiss next to me in the back.

"What is up with Hotch lately?" Morgan asked, breaking the peaceful yet un-awkward silence that had enveloped the vehicle.

"Studies show that with the coming of summer people are prone to be more irritable because of the constant itch to get outside," I said, giving in my opinion.

"But it feels as if there's more to it than that," he countered.

"Perhaps there's something wrong with Hailey and Jack," Emily wondered. "What do you think, Rossi?"

He sat there for a moment as we waited for his response. "My gut tells me that we should let him come to us. If we try to butt in he will only become more defensive and not let us in on what is bothering him."

Morgan rolled his eyes so slightly that at first I didn't know if I was imagining it. I was shocked that he would show that sort of disrespect towards Rossi, but then again Morgan was almost the same rank as them now. Although it still seemed out of character for him to act this way.

We pulled up to Jefferson Police Station and parked the cars near the front. Somehow we all managed to walk out in unison and the slamming of the doors sounded like a chorus of percussion instruments.

I squinted against the bright sunlight in the clear sky. Thankfully the weather wasn't on the brink of rain; better yet the brink of snow. One thing I was grateful for with spring arriving was the departure of snow. Normally I didn't have to experience the snow but the general gloominess of it always brought me down. Thankfully, around that time we are called out to someplace warm like Florida or California and don't have to deal with it.

As we walked into the small building a wave of smells hit my nose. I could detect the freshly ground bargain coffee mixed with the smell of musty paper from the basements and the scent of perspiration coming off of the burly man that stood in front of us.

"Lance Turner, head of the homicide department here at Jefferson. I saw you pull up. If you'll just follow me I'll show you where you can set up." Obviously he had been waiting to see our cars drive up to the station to be this prompt.

Hotch and Rossi were the first to follow, with the rest of us following suit soon after. As we walked I took in Turner's appearance. He wasn't overweight, but there was a definite roundness to his stomach that added badly to the typical cop stereotype. His shoes looked new, but his shirt and pants seemed weathered yet comfortable. The collar of his shirt was askew in the back, and when he turned to face us again I could see his neck begging to be freed from the suffocating grip of the dark red tie. I've never really liked the color red.

"You'll be working in here," he said, showing us into a medium sized room that had some tables, a whiteboard, and large bay windows that overlooked the highways outside the police station. I noticed a box on the table with the date of the first murder printed on the side and the second murder underneath. Obviously nothing from the last two murders had been added yet, or if it had they hadn't printed the date yet. "I asked my boys to bring everything related to Snapshot, and this is what they found down in evidence."

"Excuse me, Snapshot?" JJ asked, staring at Turner.

"That's the name the press has given this guy. Someone leaked about the picture clipping found on the bodies and the press had a field day. I tried to figure out who it was but they still haven't come forward."

"Someone who leaked the information isn't about to just come forward," I said, "they're going to try and stay hidden for as long as possible."

"What else does the press know?" I could tell JJ was getting worried. Usually when the press knows information about a case they blow it up and exaggerate every detail. This can cause the UNSUB to be on alert and go into hiding.

"We didn't give them any other information willingly. If anything else was found it done in secret or in passing."

Hotch looked at me and nodded. This has happened before. I nodded back and stepped out of the room. "Excuse me for a moment," I said softly to Lance as I strode past.

Once I was out of the room I whipped out my cell and dialed Garcia's number. She picked up on the first ring.

"Madame Penelope's fountain of truth, how may I help you?"

"Hey, Garcia, Hotch asked me to call."

"What can I do for ya sweetie?" she wondered in a honey-sweet yet down to business tone.

"It seems as though the UNSUB has been given a name by the press and the lead agent doesn't know which one of his people let it leak."

"Youch," she hissed.

"We asked Turner, that's the lieutenant, if any other information had been let out, but he said he isn't sure. Could you..." I trailed off, knowing that she would probably guess what Hotch had asked of her.

"You want me to look at the newspapers from the dates of the murders for any mention of this guy and pass it on." It was so easy to work with someone like her.

"That'd be great," I finished.

"What are the press calling this guy?"

"Turner says that they started calling him Snapshot because of the picture that was found on each victim."

"How original," she said dryly.

"That's why this group doesn't work in Quantico," I teased.

"Oh, Reid! You just slide right in and make the strike!" she laughed lightly.

"Well?"

"Ok, I'll get back to you guys as soon as I find anything!"

"Thanks, Garcia, you're the best."

"I know I am," she sang before the line went dead. I slid the phone back into my pocket and went back into the room. Lance was still there; I noticed his hands on his hips and his foot tapping impatiently. From what I could tell it was more of an anxious tap than one out of annoyance. Hotchner was talking with Rossi; Derek, JJ, and Prentiss were all looking through the box of evidence brought up by Turner's boys. When I entered the room Lance looked up at me and left the room, touching my arm in an "excuse me" sort of gesture.

Hotch looked up and cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him and he began to recap the assignments he had given before we left. "Morgan, you and Prentiss can take one of the cars and go and speak with the victim's families and the neighbors. Be sure that you take note of anything that looks suspicious. Remember, it's been a year since Owen Matthews was killed and six months since Chet Carlson. These families have probably shut out any feelings that may be lingering and have rehearsed their responses towards the press and anyone who asks questions. These victims were not of low class society. They've been regarded as the defenders of their neighborhoods and may have a lot of attention drawn to them while they still lived. Be careful with your words."

Morgan and Emily nodded and walked out of the room.

Next Hotch looked at Rossi. "Dave, you'll come with me to talk with Lieutenant Turner about how we should proceed with disclosing information. It seems obvious that some of his men can't be trusted, and we need to tread carefully when it comes to what we find." He turned to JJ who went back to digging through the box. "JJ, you can stay here with Reid and attempt to organize what we have; maybe get a profile started. We won't be able to accurately pin the UNSUB until Morgan and Prentiss get back but at least we can get a decent start.

JJ nodded as Hotch and Rossi left the room. She took everything out of the box and sighed as she straightened her back. She reflexively flipped her hair over her shoulder to get it out from her face. She turned her head to face me and smiled before shrugging her shoulders. "Well Spence," she started, "we might as well get started."

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**Please review :) things can't get better if you don't share your opinion!**


	2. Chapter 2

**FINALLY! i apologize for such a long wait, i'm really bad about actually posting the chapters once they are finished. don't worry, i'll get better at that! enjoy the long awaited second chapter!**

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I heard JJ let out a soft sigh as we continued to organize the single evidence box brought in by Turner's men. I looked up and saw that she had pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and that only a few strands had fallen out. They seemed to frame her face perfectly.

"You would think that one box would have something credible in it," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Actually the odds of finding a sufficient piece of evidence in a single box is incredibly low."

She creased her brows and looked at me strangely, "And why's that?"

"You see, if you have more boxes that means you have more evidence that has the possibility of being legitimate. When all of the evidence is in one box, the odds of it being worthless is greater because of the amount decrease."

"Huh, I guess that makes sense," she said. Going back to work I heard her mumble, "Doesn't make the job any easier, though."

I shook my head and smiled.

JJ picked up the small styrofoam cup with the lackluster coffee growing cold inside. She looked at it with slight disgust and set it back down.  
Noticing this, I asked her, "Do you want me to make a coffee run?"

Her eyes lit up and she grinned at me. "Oh, would you, Spence? That would be wonderful."

I nodded and set down the papers I had been going through. Walking over to my bag I grabbed the strap and pulled it over my shoulder. But before I was able to walk out the door JJ straightened. "Wait," she called, "we need to be working this case hard. Hotch wouldn't be happy if we cut out because of something petty like the desire for better coffee."

I paused and thought about it for a moment. "Why don't I just step out and see if there's anything close?" I decided.

She mulled it over for a second and then smirked. "What Hotch doesn't know won't hurt him," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

I chuckled and walked out the door. As I quietly walked through the hallways with the cubicles on either side I passed the enclosed room that Hotch, Rossi, and Turner were in. I noticed them talking about something very intensely. Hotch's face was stern and his eyes were clouded, Lieutenant Turner's face was turning red and I could see his foot tapping incessantly, and Rossi was yelling with his arms moving animatedly. I wondered what had him so upset. I decided that it if I was meant to know about the problem they would tell me in due time.

I was surprised that the security to get out of the police station was rather limited. There wasn't even a guard by the door; you would think that with the murders getting out of control the amount of security would have been increased. I guess not.

As I stepped outside I squinted my eyes against the bright sunlight still burning strong. I glanced around to see if there were any coffee places nearby.  
Jefferson was a quaint little town. It seemed like the kind of place someone chose to raise a family. There were locally owned stores up and down the street and traffic seemed non existent. I noticed a hardware store, a small grocery store with an old ice cooler outside the door, and a laundromat that had seen better days. Farther down the road a faded sign of a small person lounging in a white coffee cup caught my eye; it was surprisingly close to the station. This was to my advantage. Luckily now I didn't have to ask for a ride.

The little bell over the door tinkled lightly as I pushed the door open. The shop was small, but the size of the front and side windows let in a great deal of light and sunshine. It made the entire room look bigger than it possibly could be. I saw a few round tables sitting sporadically throughout the floor with half a dozen mismatched chairs and stools sitting around them. I saw newspaper clippings tacked up to the wall. There were pictures of smiling, middle aged people, laughing children, a few wedding announcements, and even a few obituaries that had small rosettes pinned next to them.

I heard the clinking of glass on metal and glanced in the direction of the bar. A girl had her back to me and looked to be cleaning or something. I stepped up to the counter and cleared my throat.

She turned around with a slightly startled look, but it quickly faded into a half grin that flashed her white teeth. "Hello," she greeted before turning back to her work. She finished straightening the tower of round, white glasses and hopped off the little stepping stool she was perched on. As she stepped off the stool, her tawny ponytail bounced and swayed gently. She adjusted her uniform apron and tightened the band encircling her hair. She looked back at me with sparkling pale blue eyes. She smiled again, "Hello there! Welcome to the Cozy Cup, home of the famous French Mud Bath, how may I help you?"  
She was absolutely delightful. The way her teeth radiated through her pink lips, the way her eyes, despite their pale color, seemed to pierce through the air between us, and the way her hair fell in short wisps around her ears all accentuated her natural good looks.

"H-hello," I stammered, my mouth suddenly dry.

She laughed softly and cocked her head to one side. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, uh, I'm not," I answered her. "What gave it away?"

"Well, I know almost everyone in this town and I'm positive I'd remember a face like yours." How was I supposed to take that? "Don't worry, it's nothing bad," she added with a wink. "Anyway, what can I get for you today?"

After reading the menu on the chalkboard standing next to the register I rattled off my order and she set to work.

"So what's your name?" she asked while pulling some odd looking levers.

"Dr. Spencer Reid," I said quickly.

She giggled at my speed, "Doctor? You look kinda young to be a doctor." I felt this comment was rather odd; she couldn't have been much younger than me.

"Not like a medical doctor," I countered. "I work for the FBI under the BAU."

"Wow, the FBI? Fancy."

"Yes. And the BAU stands for Behavioral Analysis Unit. I'm a criminal profiler."

"Interesting."

"Yes. And for the record, I'm 27, which is not too young to be a doctor. There are actually countries where the age of 30 is considered middle to advanced age," I rambled.

"Is that so?" she wondered as she set down the cardboard carrying case with the travel cups of coffee. She placed her hands on her edge of the counter and leaned forward so the edge of her ponytail fell over her shoulder. "Are you always this talkative?"

She caught me by surprise with her upfront question. "Well, I.. you see.. it's just that-"

She started to giggle. Holding up her hand she said, "It's ok, Spencer. You don't have to explain yourself."

I could feel my face grow warm; this was rather odd, I never blush. I reached for my wallet and my heart sank a bit. I realized that I had grabbed only my badge as I left the police station and had neglected the fact to check if my money was with me. My face fell and I stared blankly at her with my mouth agape. "Uh.."

She flipped her hand and shook her head. "Don't worry about it. If you're here with the police I'm sure you'll be back later. I'll just keep a tab going."  
"Are you sure?"

"Of course," she assured me. I smiled awkwardly and grabbed the coffee. Nodding my thanks I backed up from the counter while still looking at her.

"Thanks, uh..." I just realized that she hadn't told me her name.

"Braylen," she said, finishing my sentence. She grinned again and looked at her feet. "That's me, Braylen the Barista."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "That's catchy," I commented weakly.

"The rest of my regulars seem to think so too. Sometimes I don't even think they know my last name."

"Well, what _is_ your last name?" I asked sneakily.

Braylen paused before answering and then smiled slowly. Before turning back to her work she looked me in the eye, "That's classified." She stepped away from the counter and walked towards a back room. Waggling her fingers over her shoulders she called out, "Goodbye, Dr. Spencer!"

I was left standing in the tiny cafe with nothing but my badge, two to-go cups of coffee, and the lasting impression of one of the strangest and most intriguing people I had ever met.

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**do i smell a new romance blooming? keep reading future chapters to see!  
please review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Remember when I said I was going to get better at posting? Yeah, about that... sorry! After some much needing hounding from my friend, cascadenight, I finally finished the chapter that was sitting there half done in my folder. I will truly work harder at posting more often and I hope you enjoy the chapter :) **

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I slipped through the door with the two coffees and slowly shut it behind me. It wasn't as if I was trying to draw less attention to myself, but it seemed like if I entered quietly then JJ wouldn't've realized I had been gone for so long. I set the tray down in the center of table and dislodged my cup. "Any luck?" I questioned.

With her head still ducked down, I saw her tuck her hair behind her ear after shaking her head. "Nothing. The only things I've found are some interview notes from the family of the first two victims."

"Is there anything on Moore or Richardson?"

She looked up at me. "That's the weird part. You would think that with how recently they were killed that there would be tons of information about the case. I haven't found anything besides the initial police report."

"Weird," I muttered. As I took a sip of my drink, I noticed JJ looking at me with a slight cock in her head. "Is there something on my face?"

She smiled slightly and shook her head again. "No, it's just... nothing." She waved her hand as if to brush away the question from the air and picked up her drink.

I set mine down. "What? It's just what?"

She let out a light laugh. "Nothing, Reid. You just look... different today."

"Different how?" I urged.

"Spence, we have to get back to work."

I inhaled slowly and nodded. "You're right." I'm sure she was just seeing things. Maybe she was thinking of Henry and Bill back at home. Sometimes the inner mother in her surfaced without her realizing it.

I lifted up a few papers and scanned them, but my mind was not where it should have been. All I could think of was Braylen from the coffee shop. She was so interesting, I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing. What a silly thought, she was probably working. Suddenly, I had an idea.

"JJ, I'll be right back."

"What's up, Spence?" she asked, still rifling through papers.

"I have to make a call," I finished, walking towards the door.

She made a noise of acknowledgement and continued to work. I reached for my phone and began to walk out of the room when I ran into Hotch coming from the direction of Lance's office.

"Sorry, Hotch," I muttered as I attempted to push past him.

"It's fine," he responded harshly.

"Is something wrong?" I asked as he continued walking in the opposite direction as me. As his hard footfalls sounded on the floor, his voice remained silent. Obviously something had happened while he and Rossi were talking to Lieutenant Turner. I thought better than to ask again.

I found a small hallway with a vending machine and walked over to the secluded corner behind it. I hit the button that brought up Garcia's speed dial and pressed it to my ear.

"Speak," the familiar voice rang in my ear.

"Hey, Garcia."

"This better be important, Dr. Reid. I'm in the middle of some important good guy hacking," she teased.

"Does it count if I consider it important?" I wondered.

"Of course my dear, how can I be of service today?"

"I need you to look someone up for me." Before I even said the name of the person I needed information on, I could hear the clicking of her keyboard on the other end. "Her name is Braylen."

"Do you have a last name, Sweetie?"

My stomach fell slightly. I had asked her what it was, but she told me it was classified. Why did I feel embarrassed about this fact? "No, I couldn't get one."

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I'll need a last name if I'm going to find your lost princess."

"She's not my lost princess," I assured her.

"Whatever you say, lover boy."

I could feel the color creeping into my cheeks. More blushing? What was this? "A last name seems irrelevant for someone with your talents."

"Well I thank you for the compliment, but I'm afraid your mystery girl will have to remain a mystery. Unless you know where she works, then I can check the employee directory."

"She works at The Cozy Cup right here in Jefferson."

A few moments went by with nothing but the clacking of the keys between us. "Hmm," I heard.

"What? Is something wrong?" I questioned.

"Are you sure you have the name right? I'm not finding anything about a girl named Braylen who works at The Cozy Cup."

"Of course I'm sure, I have an eidetic memory after all."

"Sorry 'bout that Reid, but I'm afraid I can't help you."

"That's ok, Garcia," I said, my tone less chipper than before. Not out of sadness, but more out of confusion and wonder.

"Anytime, my little genius." She hung up and I put my phone away. I turned around and was surprised to see Rossi feeding a wrinkled dollar into the machine.

"Hotch is calling a meeting. It's in the conference room where you and JJ are working." He showed no signs of whether or not he heard my conversation with Garcia. I nodded and started to follow him. When we got to the room he stopped me before we entered. "Is there something buggin' you?"

I shook my head, "Nope, I'm fine." It would be best if I didn't occupy the team with my personal escapades.

As we entered the room I saw that only Hotchner and JJ were there; Morgan and Prentiss must not have returned yet. JJ's face looked expectant, while Hotch's looked dark and foreboding. Rossi shut the door behind us and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Go ahead, Aaron," he said.

I looked to Hotch who had stood up a little straighter. "Agent Rossi and I have found out who started the leak to the press. It was Lieutenant Turner."

"Why do I feel like this is something from a late night crime drama?" JJ asked rhetorically.

"He claims that he leaked the information to receive a sort of favor from the reporters," Rossi said. "It seems as though the station had a few officers stick their hands into the cookie jar and now Turner's reputation is at stake."

"So in return for the information, the reporters won't reveal the officers' wrongdoings," I threw out flatly.

"That's right," Hotch answered.

"Do the others know?" I asked, referring to Morgan and Prentiss.

"I've already called them and filled them in. They're on their way back to tell us the information they got from the families."

"You know, after they left I realized that we only told them to talk to the first two vic's families," I brought up. "Weren't there two other victims recently?"

"I thought of that too," Rossi cut in.

"When we went into Turner's office, I found the other boxes that had to do with case," Hotch revealed.

"So you're saying that not only does this guy have ties with the press but he's also hiding information?" JJ asked, her voice rising in intensity.

"Seems like it," Rossi confirmed.

I saw Hotch close his eyes and take a deep breath. The amount of anger in his face was quite apparent. My mind was still trying to solve the problem at our hands. "So what are we going to do now? It's not like we can include him in on the details of the case."

"But we also can't leave him out," Rossi retorted. "He _is_the head of this department."

Perhaps unconsciously, we all turned towards Hotchner for an answer. He sighed and then looked at us all with the answer. "I agree with Reid. We can't afford for him to leak more information to the media. From what I've gathered about our UNSUB, he won't be happy if his name is splashed and slandered all over the city."

"You don't think that he would want the attention?" JJ asked.

"At first I did," Hotch continued, "but after some thinking I realized that he only leaves a small piece of a picture with the bodies. This is his signature. We haven't been able to piece it together into the original photo yet, but that's how he's planned it. He wants to remain a mystery to us; it's part of what gives him the satisfaction of what he does."

"Control," Rossi said bluntly.

"Exactly. If more information about him is released than he puts forth, then he's lost that control. He's playing with us, and Lieutenant Turner is trying to opt out of the game."

A silence settled over us. From his behavior when we first arrived I should have known that Turner was guilty of something. "You said that you found boxes about the latest victims in Turner's office?" I directed toward Hotch.

He nodded curtly.

"Have you been through them?"

He was about to answer when Morgan and Prentiss walked in. They looked like they had been to hell and back. I guess getting information from families who had mentally shut down a year ago isn't easy. It pained me knowing that we didn't have good news to bring them.

"How were the interviews?" JJ questioned with a calm voice. I sensed that she could see the disappointment on their faces as well.

Morgan shook his head. "Not too good."

"Hotch was right," Prentiss added. "They've been asked these questions multiple times. All of their answers were rehearsed and well prepared." She fell into a chair and rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"Did you find out anything at all?" Rossi asked, I could hear the hint of impatience in his tone.

"It was difficult, but we managed to find out some things about what happened the night Owen and Chet were killed." Morgan remained standing, but he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, let's hear it," Hotch commanded.

"Don't you think we should wait for the profiling to reveal this?" I piped up.

Hotch shook his head. "We can't risk certain details being leaked by an unreliable source. Go ahead, Morgan."

"We've put together the answers from both families because of their similarities. From what we gathered, each victim had a normal night with their loved ones. Dinner, some quality time, then off to bed."

"Did either of the first two victims have children?" I pondered.

Morgan shook his head. "Owen's wife said that that night she was having a headache, so she went to bed early."

"Did she take any medication for it?" I asked, feeling like I was quizzing him on what he had heard. "Something that may have helped her fall asleep?"

"She says that she remembers taking something for the pain, but nothing specific."

"Mrs. Matthews has admitted to being a heavy sleeper," Prentiss cut in.

"She claims that she went to bed and awoke the next morning to find her husband dead in the living room," Morgan finished.

I saw JJ close her eyes and grimace slightly. She is one of our toughest team members, but when details are given so bluntly she tends to feel the distance between her and Bill.

"And Mrs. Carlson? The same?" Rossi questioned.

"Almost to the minute of death," Prentiss answered.

"This adds more to the control aspect," Hotchner stated. We all collectively nodded. "We need to think about the possibility of the UNSUB knowing the victims personally."

"I don't think that's the case," I said in rebuttal.

"Oh?" Hotch was surprised at my remark, a rare occasion.

"Did either victim have ties to each other?" I posed.

"Nothing significant," said Prentiss.

"Even if there was nothing significant we can't rule out that he knew them before an attack." I could tell that Hotch had put the hard outer shell back up and was ready to pull out all the stops to prove his point. "The reports had nothing about a forced break in. He was allowed into the home."

"A forced break in only applies if there is a damaged window or broken door. Perhaps he could have had a key made previously or picked the lock upon entry." I don't know what came over me, but I was not about to let him win this.

"If he had a key made then he must have had some access to the victims before the murder-"

"Enough," Morgan said sternly. Hotchner looked at me like I had crossed a line. I tried to look apologetic but all I could manage was to hold out the stare between us. I looked away from him, still baffled at why I was so determined to prove him wrong. "This isn't getting us anywhere," Derek continued. "For now it would be best to forget about how he knew the victims. We need to look at it like any normal breaking and entering."

"I can see where you're going with this," JJ piped up, "but if we assume that then we toss aside the key evidence that he had some reason for killing these men." There was a pause among us all before she finished what she had started. "The picture clipping."

Of course. Even if the UNSUB had no personal connection with the victims there had to be some reason for why he had chosen them. Otherwise the age and gender bracket wouldn't be set like it was.

Rossi attempted to get us back on track. "So right now we have the wife going to bed and the husband, or the victim, staying awake. The wife wakes up the next morning and finds her husband dead in the living room. Is there any differences between these two murders and the two most recent ones?"

Hotchner excused himself and walked out of the door to go back to Turner's office, presumably to get the boxes of evidence. Once he was out the door I ran my fingers through my hair and attempted to recenter myself.

"Is there something bugging you, Reid?" Emily asked caringly. I was reminded of Rossi's question earlier.

"I'm fine."

"I mean it could be Hotch, but I've never seen you act that way either."

"Really," I assured her, "I'm fine."

The room was silent until Hotchner came back in with a pair of boxes stacked in his hands. He rifled through some file folders before pulling out a sheet of paper with the crime scene summary. After reading through it for a moment he shook his head. "It seems that the death of Tayten Moore was almost identical to the deaths of Mr. Matthews and Mr. Carlson."

"Wasn't there a fourth murder?" I asked tentatively, not knowing if my eidetic memory was still living up to its name.

"There was. Aaron Richardson. The only major difference was that he was found outside of his home and not in the same locations of the other victims."

"Doesn't that seem odd?" Morgan wondered. "All these other victims were killed inside their homes. The UNSUB probably did so to make them feel even more defenseless." That's right, he removed their shirts and placed their palms skyward. "You'd think that he would stick to an MO that distinct."

"It also says here that there was a ripped garbage bag near the body." Hotch read.

"Looks like our UNSUB was so caught up in his actions that he was caught off guard when our victim changed the routine he was expecting," Rossi said with a sort of revelation.

"The neighbors _did_ claim that there was a disturbance. Mr. Richardson was found at night, not the next morning like his previous victims," Emily reminded us all.  
"It seems to me that our guy is losing some of the control he so craves." I looked at the team and they nodded collectively.

Another silence fell over us all. This was strange too. Normally we all put in our ideas and come to a decision from there. I think there's something holding Hotch back, something that is hindering his performance on this case.

"Where do we go from here?" JJ asked no one in particular. "Are we ready to give out a profile yet?"

"I feel that it would be a mistake to present anything to the detectives so early on," Hotchner said. "I realize it's still early in the day, but I believe that everyone needs to take a break from the case. Go to your hotel rooms and we'll reconvene tomorrow."

"But Hotch-" Morgan started to argue.

Hotchner cut him off. "Morgan, I know what you're going to say, but save your breath." Derek stared at him with intensity. "If we want to solve this crime with our best thinking, we need to have clear minds. Something about this case has brought up feelings in all of us that seem to be clouding our better judgement and rationalization." There was a pause before he finished. "I'll see you all tomorrow," and with that he left the room.

Maybe he's right. After meeting Braylen I felt like some switch in my brain had been flipped. I couldn't think clearly. With a sigh I picked up my bag and said silent goodbyes to the rest of the team.

On the trip back to the hotel I went through the events of the day. There was definitely something off about Hotch. But what it was, I wasn't quite sure. Perhaps after a quiet evening to clear his thoughts we all could do our jobs.

Hopefully.

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**Reid's wearing his sassy pants today. If he was here he'd make some snarky remark at how you should review ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**hey everyone! I'm super excited about this chapter, because it combines the seriousness of the case with the care free attitude of Reid's friendship with Braylen. Before you read I will remind you that not all case details are given in the profile because I didn't want to sound repetitive from previous chapters. If you DO have any questions you can just go back and check, and if you STILL can't find the answer, it might just be answered later on ;) **

**anyways, enjoy!  
**

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The events of yesterday were still bothering me, yet I still had the feeling that there was nothing wrong with the way I acted. I was merely trying to prove a point, there was no reason for Hotchner to become so defensive. Did he feel threatened by my argument? It was hard to believe, then again, everyone seemed to notice that something was bugging him. Maybe it had something to do with the Director. She hadn't interfered with the case thus far, but there was always the fear that she would step in and change things for the worse. I decided it would be best to attempt to patch things up and start hard on the case.

Earlier in the morning I received a message from Derek that we were presenting the profile after a brief meeting amongst the team. As I made my way to the Jefferson station I ran over the conversation with Hotchner in my head; at least how I hoped it would go.

_Reid, you were right, I apologize for being so stubborn with you._Yeah, like that would ever happen.

"Are you sure we're even ready to present a profile?" JJ asked Rossi. She was leaning against the table with her arms crossed over her chest. We were in the same room as the day before, so our boxes of evidence were neatly organized in the center of the table. "You can't really say that we arrived at any reasonable conclusions during yesterday's meeting."

Rossi inhaled slowly, "No, you're right. But if Aaron thinks we're ready, we need to proceed."

She looked at him and just barely shook her head. I'm sure Rossi didn't catch it, but even if he did he wouldn't have told Hotch. I wonder what Gideon would have done. Then again, if Gideon wasn't here then we probably wouldn't be in this mess.

"Reid, is something wrong?"

Her voice caught me off guard and snapped me out of my reverie. I blinked at her. "N-no... I'm fine," I stammered.

She smiled faintly and went over to stand by her place as Prentiss and Morgan walked in with Hotchner following close behind. They gathered in a semi-circle as Hotchner came to the front of the room.

"I was doing some thinking last night, which I presume is the same for the rest of you. After some consideration I feel that we have enough information to present a profile to the detectives and officers here. We know enough about the UNSUB and his victims to give a good base view of who we are looking for. We can gather them in 15 minutes and debrief them on our UNSUB."

"Look, Hotch, are you sure we aren't giving this a little early?" Morgan posed. "I mean, we didn't even come to a conclusion yesterday. Who's to say that we're ready to present it at this point."

I saw Hotch's eyes cloud and his face grow stern. But before anything could be shot back Rossi cut in to answer Morgan. "We don't want to give away too much, and this way there is room to add more if things change along the way."

Derek got the hint and settled back into his place. There was some silence before I put in my question. "Is Lieutenant Turner going to be there?"

"We decided on that yesterday. Lieutenant Turner will not be present during the presentation because it would endanger any potential victims. He will be given a short summary of the profile so he can aide in the investigation, but nothing more." His answer was just like his way of approaching a problem: straight and direct. I smirked at the irony in that thought. Straight and direct, unless the problem involves him.

"Anything else we need to cover before we go in?" Emily perked up, she had been silent since she walked in.

There were collective head shakes throughout the group.

"I have to do a few things before we start," Rossi said, "so I'll meet you in there. Aaron?"

"That's fine."

Rossi nodded once and walked out of the room at a brisk pace. I wonder what he had to do.

"Do you want us to bring the evidence into the room to show the officers?" Prentiss asked lightly.

He nodded without looking at them and she went to grab a box. JJ and Morgan grabbed boxes too and they all left the room simultaneously. A part of me found this oddly coincidental, but another part felt it was the perfect opportunity to attempt to patch things with Hotch.

"Hey, Hotch, can I talk to you?"

"If it concerns yesterday there's nothing to talk about." His voice was firm and cold.

"Please, hear me out."

He turned and looked at me, his eyes clear and focused. "Reid, listen to me. I know you want to apologize for what happened yesterday, but it's okay. What I need you to do is clear your mind and be 100% focused on this case. If we allow ourselves to be preoccupied with personal matters then our work cannot be done to the best of our abilities."

"That's not it," I said defensively.

"Then what is it?" he asked.

"It's just... I just..."

"Spencer," he cut in. He rarely said my first name. "If there's something going on outside of here you need to let it go. If you won't, I'll have no choice but to send you back to Quantico."

I was caught by surprise by his abrupt remark. "But, Hotch, it's not-"

"Just take this as a warning," he said in a finalizing way. He set his mouth and breathed slowly. "I'll see you in the meeting room. Remember, 15 minutes." He turned away and walked out of the room.

This was so angering. I had barely gotten in three words before he cut in and asserted himself once again. It was as if he knew that I had met Braylen and shared some friendly chit chat. Only, that has nothing to do with this. She was not the reason why I spoke out against Hotchner. It was something different. It had to be. I picked up my bag and left the now empty room.

"Thank you for joining us this morning," Hotch spoke out to the group of officers, detectives, and agents in the crowded room. Some were holding legal pads with pens poised at the ready. Some leaned against walls and table edges while others stood with their arms crossed over their chests. Lieutenant Turner was not present. I was behind Hotch to his right, sitting in a chair with my hand holding my face up while I contemplated some things. How did Hotch know that I wanted to talk to him about yesterday? Was there really some connection between Braylen and the way my actions had changed?

"Is it true that you already have a profile ready?" one of the men asked.

"Yes, it is. We've asked you to come and hear what we've put together so far," Hotch answered.

"So far?" another officer questioned.

"If we have a basis for our profile early on we can add more to it later if something in the course of events changes," Rossi said, saving the officer from a harsh reply from Hotch. The officer nodded once and settled back into his place.

Hotch cleared his throat. "Our UNSUB is what we call a mixed offender. He is very organized at the crime scene and is extremely careful not to leave anything unintentional behind. He thrives on control and most likely lives alone."

"How can you be sure that he lives alone?" a female officer wondered.

Morgan picked up where Hotch left off. "All of our victims were killed in the night, and from what we could find," he was careful with his words, "there was no sign that he was a stranger to the victim's home. He would have to have a lot of free time on his hands to be able to scope out their house, know their routines, and other steps necessary to getting close to them."

"If he had attachments at home he would seem suspicious, which could lead to questions," Rossi finished.

Most of the officers in the room nodded and scratched something out onto their legal pads.

"As most of you know," Hotch continued, "our UNSUB has been leaving a segment of a photograph at the crime scene on the victim's body."

JJ pulled up a few of the pictures of the victims and put them on the whiteboard available in the room. It showed the victims in their poses of defenselessness. "You can see the ligature marks from the strangulation weapon here," she said, pointing out the marks on their necks. "By the angle of the markings we can tell that the UNSUB is in smaller stature than our victims. He could be going after them to compensate for something, or he could have deep rooted feelings for someone in his past that he needs to take out on other people who remind him of that person in his life."

"Because of their ages and physical similarities we believe that the UNSUB is going after victims that remind him of somebody who was a father figure in his life," I put in. "But we don't have enough of the pieces of the photograph yet to know for sure."

"So you're saying that if we had the picture we could figure it out?" a portly officer brought up.

"Let's say the picture is of his sister, or a loved one in his life. He could have had an abusive male figure in his life and that's what is leading him to choose these men," Prentiss finished.

"Why would he put a picture of someone he cared for on the bodies? Didn't you say that he might have had an abuser? Wouldn't it make more sense to use that picture instead?" the same officer pressed.

I took the reigns again. "We can tell by his methods that this UNSUB feels remorse for killing his victims. The picture could be a way of apologizing to them." The officer nodded and quickly wrote something out.

"What do you propose we do now?" someone from the back asked.

Hotch took the lead once more. "What we need now is to narrow our window of victims. We can rule out women, because of what we've found, and we can also eliminate anyone who isn't in the age bracket. At this point in his progression our UNSUB is sticking to men around the age of 35 who have families at home. We need to get word out to the people of the community to keep an eye out for anyone exhibiting suspicious behaviors that fits the brief profile we have right now."

"When do you think we'll know who this guy is?"

Hotch paused before Rossi filled in for him. "At this point we can't say, but when more of the pieces come together we can try to get a better picture." A nice vague answer to fit the situation. The reality was that we had absolutely no leads on who this guy could be and nowhere to go from here. I hated to admit it, but unless someone came forward with a huge missing link from the case the only way we were going to get more of an insight was if the UNSUB killed another victim, and nobody wanted that.

We finished up the meeting by answering some minor questions from the agents and then we split up again to go over more case evidence. It felt like we were raking through the leaves that had already been shattered, so all we were doing was making things more confusing and getting nowhere fast. About halfway through the day Hotch had become more distant and announced that he was going to go back to his room to take care of some things. The rest of the team needed to take a break from the case, so they asked if I would go back to the coffee place from before and pick something up. What they didn't know was that while I was gone, I was going to take the opportunity to talk to Braylen again and try to get some contact information. That way, I could talk to her at anytime and wouldn't need the excuse of coffee to do so.

"You really said that to him?" Braylen asked, shocked at my recollection of my argument with Hotchner the day before. She stood up from the counter she had been leaning on and cocked her hip. "Man, Spencer, I guess I just didn't see you doing something like that." It felt nice that she still remembered my name, even though we had so recently seen each other. It sounded so wonderful on her lips, I couldn't place the words.

"I was surprised too," I added. She looked right at me and I felt like all the words had been sucked out of my mouth. "But uh... yeah." She smiled and chuckled a bit. She shook her head and walked over to the display case with assorted muffins and other pastries as a customer walked in. She didn't seem to notice him, but the tinkling of the door bell dignified his entrance.

He was dressed in jeans that looked dirty in a way that was intended by the designer. His neutral colored shirt was covered by a coat that could be considered shabby. It's odd that he's wearing a jacket when the weather was that fair. His face showed signs of exhaustion and there were smoky colored rings surrounding his pale hazel eyes. HIs hair was tousled in a "couldn't-care-less" manner mixed with an air of impatience.

Braylen turned towards him with her standard employee greeting. "Welcome to the Cozy Cup, how may I-" she stopped mid sentence when she saw who it was. Her eyes lost their brightness and she seemed to take on a robotic, detached personality. "Oh, hello, Noah."

The customer, Noah, nodded his head and stepped closer. Braylen sighed and went back to the spot on the counter she was leaning on. "I was wondering if you could-" he started. His voice tapered off when he seemed to notice me for the first time. "Who're you?"

Before I could open my mouth to answer Braylen cut in. "He's just here for some coffee. No one you need to be concerned with." She looked at me with a pleading message written across her face. "Could you repeat your order please, sir?"

My mind drew a momentary blank before I sputtered out something written on the Specials menu. She assembled and gave my my drink quickly. As I dug through my pocket for some money I heard a shuffling of feet from behind me. I didn't turn around; Braylen's tone was enough to tell me what was going on.

"Noah, what do you want?"

"I need to talk to you," he commanded.

Braylen didn't hesitate with her response. "I'm working now. It'll have to wait."

I dropped a few coins onto the floor and bent down to pick them up. As I stood back up I saw Noah's fist clench and relax at his side. I heard a deep breath before he tried again. "It's important..."

Braylen's defensive tone rose. "I already told you, I'm busy. Now please, I have to get back to work."

As I laid the rest of the money on the counter quietly I heard Noah turn on his heel and storm out the door. I glanced over my shoulder to see him race down the road, his face in an angry frown. I looked back at Braylen. "Did you know him?" Wow, _that _was a stupid question.

"He's no one," she said dismissively, "just someone who comes around a lot."

"He seemed like he really needed to talk to you though," I continued.

She sighed and looked at me, her eyes bright. We held the stare for a moment before she laughed and broke the gaze. "You know what," she muttered, "let's not talk about him. I feel since now we're friends we should know more about each other." She had stood up fully and shook out her hair from it's ponytail. "But first," she began to untie the apron that was slung around her neck, "I need to get more comfortable."

She brought it up over her neck and laid it out on the counter. "I can't stay long," I reminded her. "I have to get back to my team and keep working this case, we're swamped at the moment." My eyes inadvertently grew wide at my statement. I wasn't supposed to reveal anything about the case unless it was to an official. She seemed to notice this too.

"Don't worry about it, Spence. Here," she pulled out a slab of paper from the pocket of the apron strewn across the counter and a pen that was clipped to her pants pocket. She scrawled something in a cursive script and handed me the sheet. It was an email address. "We should stay in touch."

I was kind of surprised, but something was bugging me. "Wouldn't a phone number be more efficient?" I felt horrible after asking; I hadn't even said thank you.  
She scoffed slightly, but continued to smile nonetheless. "Sorry, but with my secret life as a foreign assassin I can't legally give you my phone number." She winked at me as her eyes twinkled.

I had to laugh at this. "I should get back, but, thank you."

She laughed lightly and nodded. "Sure thing, Spence." She mock saluted and went to the back room.

I left the shop with a warm, tingling feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. I was halfway back to the police station before I realized that I hadn't bought the rest of the drinks for the group. But that didn't matter anymore, because she had called me Spence. Only one other person called me that, and she already promised herself to Bill. Was it a sign?

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**as you may already know, my friend _cascadenight_ is a fellow writer on this site. she has some AMAZING stories set in the pokemon world that I think you should check out. her readers aren't the best at reviewing, and she really wants your feedback! so, if you're interested, please look up my friend and read her stuff. I usually edit for her but she does an awesome job by herself. Her stories have a lot of plot action as well as friendships-turned-more that are just... well... perfect :) **

**thanks again!  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys! I have to say this chapter really marks the start of the action. There is a time skip in here so don't get confused when suddenly: a few days later. All I have to say is that Reid is huggably adorable, and Hotch is brooding as usual. Only this time, we know why. Enjoy!**

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My fingers hesitated over the keys as I struggled with my brain to figure out the perfect words to start the email. All I had so far was "_Hey, it's me, Spencer." _How deep.  
_Just write, it's not like you're emailing the president. Or worse, Hotch. _"Alright," I said out loud, the sound amplified in the quiet hotel room. "Just start writing."

_Hey, it's me, Spencer. How was work?_

I erased all of it. This wasn't going to work; I'd decided it. Maybe I should just wait for her to email me, but wait. I can't do that, I never gave her my email! My face fell into my hands in frustration. I moved them through my hair and set myself. Just buck up!

_Hey, it's me, Spencer. Just sending this to see if the email worked. How was your day?_

That'd have to do. I inhaled slowly and hit "send". I waited. It felt like an eternity, when in reality only about two minutes dragged by. I opened a new browser window and decided to look at anything that would get my mind off the awaiting email. Reishi mushrooms, hmm, how interesting.

_Ping!_

The noise made me jump. But instantly after, my stomach started to flutter and I urged the mouse pad to move faster as I clicked on the email window. One new email sat in my inbox. It was from her.

_Hey Spence :) Yes the email worked, did you think I would give you a phony email? What kind of girl do you think I am? Haha ;)_  
_ Anyways, my day was fine. Just another normal day at the Cozy Cup. How is life as a ninja spy?_

A ninja spy? Where did that come from? I chuckled under my breath and couldn't help the smile forming across my face. I immediately started another reply.

_I've never had a girl give me her email before, except for work, but I've heard stories of guys who ended up texting someone completely different. As for life as a ninja spy? I had an alright day. Our team leader has something bothering him, but we don't know what._

Was that ok to tell her? I wasn't sure, but my gut didn't tell me otherwise, so I sent it to her. A little while later I got an answer back.

_Maybe he lost his throwing stars and now can't fight against world suck and help promote world awesome. If you need to borrow my metal detector you're welcome to :) I have to go, but I'll see you around._  
_ -Braylen_

I had done it. I had successfully held a conversation with her over email. Despite the fact that I had already talked with her in person, this felt like big step forward. Maybe soon I'd get her phone number, then I wouldn't have to fumble with my words over a computer.

I shutdown the computer and turned off the light while simultaneously flipping on the T.V. I went past the depressing news stories, the predictable dramas, the forced hilarity of the sitcoms and surfed the channels. Nothing seemed to measure up to the excitement felt while talking to Braylen. Plus, I couldn't shake the image of Hotch in a ninja costume looking for his lost throwing stars. Maybe he should dress like that for Halloween. I'd sure get a kick out of that.

I put my sunglasses on as soon as we stepped out of the car. The sun was blazing fiercely and the reflection off the massive buildings around us only made it worse. It had been a few days since Braylen and I had last talked, but I wasn't worried. Hotchner still seemed upset about something but he had managed to let it go enough to bring his focus back on the case at hand. We were still at a loss for major leads, but anything out of the ordinary in the slightest was brought under our severe scrutiny.

We had been called out from Jefferson to New York City itself. For a Tuesday morning the amount of traffic had been routine. People bustling to their 9-5 jobs after seeing their kids off to school, on their way to getting a quick shot of caffeine to help finish what the measly breakfast started. Us? We had a murder on our hands. Not quite part of the routine.

Rossi and Hotch had been told first, then ushered us along and shared the minimal details on the way here. It seemed to be a hit and run by what they told us, and the other officers didn't see a reason to think otherwise.

"Is he a John?" Prentiss called from behind me; she was directing her question to an officer looking down at the body. As we approached the secluded shade of the alleyway I was able to take off my sunglasses. I put them in my pocket and squatted next to the victim.

"The first officers on the scene said they found a positive I.D.," answered the officer. He had stepped back to give us more space. "I have it here." Another techy handed him a plastic evidence bag with an opened wallet inside. At first glance I didn't see any obvious blood, so that was a good sign. "It says his name is Luis Juan. He's a New York native."

"I think it's safe to say he 'was' a native, officer," Morgan said grimly. He was standing like a guard over us all, his dark sunglasses still on despite the blocked light. The officer nodded and stepped back again.

"Remind me why we were called out here?" It was Rossi. He had just arrived with Hotchner. JJ had stayed back to keep combing through the little we had. "Do you think this is the work of our guy?"

"Might be," I mumbled, taking a closer look at the victim's neck.

"Are you checking for a picture? There wasn't one when we got here," someone called over.

"Unless there is a concrete reason linking this to our case I must insist that we get back to Jefferson." Hotch was on edge, no surprise.

"Hold up, Hotch," Rossi retorted. "Just because there's no picture doesn't mean it's not our guy."

I reached out my latexed hand and moved Luis's head upward to get a better look at his jaw line. There was extremely faint bruising, but nothing like Mr. Moore or Mr. Richardson. "Has the ME given an official cause of death?" I asked no one in particular.

"Uhh, not officially," someone answered, walking up beside me and gazing down at the body. "But they did find a marking on the back of his head to suggest blunt force trauma."

"What are you thinking, Reid?" Rossi wondered.

I stood up but continued to look at Mr. Juan. His hair had fallen into his face but I noticed more bruises near his eye. True, it didn't fit our UNSUB's MO, but something about it still felt out of place. I was sure of it. "I saw some marks showing signs of strangulation. I think it's our guy."

"But there's no photo," Prentiss brought up. "And none of the other vics showed signs of assault... or a struggle," she added, gesturing to the overturned garbage cans by the wall near the body.

"Maybe it's a copycat?" Morgan proposed.

"No," Hotch said, "there's not enough media attention. We made sure of that."

The four of them walked over to the body while I took a look around the rest of the crime scene. There was a dumpster in the far corner of the alley, and the rusty fire escape screamed cliche as a ruffly blouse hung limp across a line. I focused my attention downward again. The normal trash remains were strewn across the ground: used coffee cups, soiled napkins, empty pizza boxes. A magazine, waterlogged and wrinkled, was scattered all around. Except, one page seemed out of place.

"So how do we take this?" Prentiss sighed. "Do we count it as our guy? There's signs of strangulation."

"But also a bludgeoning," Hotch brought up. He couldn't seem to pick a side. "It doesn't fit the profile."

I bent down and picked it up. It was like a moment of pure happenstance.

"We can't just toss this aside," Rossi pressed, "whether it was our UNSUB or not it was still a murder."

"Guys, you might want to look at this." They broke their powwow and walked over to where I was standing.

"Well I'll be," Rossi muttered.

It was a photograph. It had been folded methodically into sections and four small pieces of the grid were missing. What was left showed a smiling woman in her mid forties. Her pale eyes, or, eye, were staring warmly at the camera holder, her light hair pulled back from her face. From the looks of it, it was the remaining photograph from which the pieces, previously laid onto the bodies of our four victims, had been torn. The careful sectioning could only be signs of someone with a deep need for control; someone like our UNSUB.

"We need to compare this with the pieces found on Chet Carlson and the others," Hotch informed us, voicing what I had been thinking.

"I've got a theory," Morgan piped up. "We figured our UNSUB wasn't the strongest, right? Well, Reid said he saw marks on the vic's neck. UNSUB attempts to get him, fails as the victim struggles, changes his plans and uses whatever force he can muster."

"How do we explain the setting?" Rossi threw in, "it isn't the normal layout."

"Because he didn't leave a picture snippet we can figure he wasn't quite organized," I followed.

"Another thing," Emily spoke up, "the age and race bracket don't match up. This kid can't be more than twenty and is Latino. All the other victims were in their mid thirties and caucasian."

"I think our victim was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, as sad as it is to say." Rossi went to go tell the other officers what we had found.

"We should get back to the station and fill JJ in on what happened. Reid, call Garcia and see what she can find for background on Luis Juan. Also, if this photo is the same, we may have found a significant lead. We have to act on it." After Hotch gave the orders we dispersed back to the cars and made our way to Jefferson agian. As we pulled away I saw Hotch glance at his phone and look away with the same clouded eyes he had when discussing Lieutenant Turner. I just hoped it was something that would pass, and soon.

"Hotch, I think I found something on the picture," I announced to him as I approached where he was sitting. I held it out and was about to continue but he held up his hand.

"Reid, gather the team, I have an announcement to make." He stood up with a sign and walked into the conference room, but not with the air of confidence he usually upheld. He had the look of a man defeated.

"I received a call from the director shortly after we returned from Luis Juan's crime scene. She is, let's say, displeased."

Morgan scoffed and shook his head. Rossi gave him a reprimanding look but he ignored it.

"Despite the evidence found this morning she feels that there has not been enough progress on this case to keep us here."

"Wait," JJ muttered, "you're not saying..."

Hotch held his stone face. "I'm afraid so. She's issued an order for us to return go Quantico."

Morgan pushed himself off the table he was leaning on and knocked off the cup he had been drinking from. "Bull shit!" he shouted.

"Derek!" Prentiss scolded, look at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, Emily, but this is too much." His eyes were bright and I could tell he was trying to control another outburst. "Hotch, she can't be serious."

"I hate to admit it but she is. She's looked over the evidence from the previous victims and has decided that there is no reason for us to be here. From the start she was apprehensive of us coming here."

"So you mean this whole time you've been hung up and distant because of her and her damn antics? She has no idea what she's doing!"

"Derek, I'll remind you of where we are-"

"No, forget it." He threw his hands up and made his way towards the door. "I need to cool down," he mumbled as he slammed the door behind him.

We sat in a sort of stunned silence with Derek's departure. Hotch sighed and continued on. "Emotions aside, we've been called back. She's certain that the local officers will be able to handle things until something else happens."

"Which translates into another victim," I concluded.

"Unfortunately, yes."

More silence. The tension in the air was more awkward than anything. Finally, Emily asked what we all were wondering on some level. "When do we leave?"

"She has us booked for a flight tomorrow morning. She wants us to close up what we've found before leaving, so it was like we were never here." He nodded to us all and left the room, presumably to look for Morgan and tell Turner about our latest 'finding'.

Rossi addressed the three of us left. "Go on, get a good night's sleep. There's nothing we can do now." JJ and Emily relaxed in their chairs and started to discuss some things, although I could tell they were disappointed with how things played out.

"Rossi, wait," i called out to him as he marched down the hall. He turned to face me and I could see the blankness in his eyes. "Are you sure there's nothing we can do? I mean have you spoken to her at all, maybe we could-"

"Reid, there's nothing we can do." He sounded defeated, just like Hotch.

I felt a spark of anger glow dully in the pit of my stomach, but I controlled it so no outburst would happen; I couldn't get away with those things like Morgan could. "Let me talk to Hotch, there has to be something-"

"Listen, Reid," he snapped. How uncharacteristic of him. "If we stay here we are endangering Hotchner's job. He can't just ignore orders like that."

"But what about the photograph we found this morning? Does she just see it as nothing?"

"I'm not sure," he breathed, clearly finished discussing this with me. "I don't agree with it, obviously, but at this point, it would be foolish to stay." He walked away without giving me a chance to say anymore.

I knew Hotch, and I knew that despite what he felt, he wouldn't go against the word of the director. He had crossed that line before and wasn't willing to cross it again. I forced myself to let it out of my head and went back to my hotel room.

After waiting a bit and mulling it over til it was like a dead horse I finally decided to email Braylen. A part of me thought I was acting silly, that she didn't need to know. But the other, stronger side claimed that as a friend she had a right to know that I wasn't going to be buying the team coffees again.  
I had trouble wording it, like my fingers were refusing to do what my brain commanded.

_Braylen, I thought I should let you know that my team has been called back to Quantico. I wish it wasn't so soon, but things happen. I'll stop by tomorrow and say goodbye. Save me a cup of your finest :) - Reid_

I hit send and waited, but no ding came. I figured she was busy or out with friends. I spent the rest of the evening wasting time until my body allowed me to sleep. It turned out to be quite the day, just not in the way I had hoped.

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**No Latinos were harmed in the making of this chapter XD  
**

**Please review! Your opinion matters and can alter how things turn out! Also, my friend, _cascadenight_, is getting the dramatic part of her stories too. You should check her out ;)  
**

**Until next time!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter may be short, but it packs quite the punch. Read on! I can't bare to reveal the details!**

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We're going home; it wasn't necessarily something that I wanted to do, but as Rossi and Hotch clearly reminded me yesterday, we couldn't go against the director.

I opened the blinds of the hotel room and let the sun come in and warm my face. I took a deep breath and got dressed slowly. I was in no hurry to leave Jefferson. My phone sounded and I checked the message that had just come in.

_Leaving at 8:30, meeting at the station.  
_  
It was from Hotch. I had to laugh a bit to myself, he wasn't really the tech-savvy guy.

_I'm going to stop and get something for the flight, _I sent back to him. It wouldn't take me long to say goodbye to Braylen. A nagging sensation sent a dull ring through my head. I wondered if she had answered while I had been sleeping. I booted up my laptop and waited for it to load.

I sighed; there was nothing. "Stop reading into it," I scolded myself. "She's probably already at work and just didn't check her email."

Closing it up I packed the rest of my belongings and left the hotel. The Cozy Cup wasn't too far walking distance, and the quiet morning had a calming effect that made it harder to accept having to leave. I saw a few birds cluster around some discarded food near the drain by the curb; they only looked at me while I walked past. Few shops were open this early, but I could see the owners getting prepared for the incoming sales day.

The hotel was in the opposite direction from The Cozy Cup than the station. In the distance I could see one black SUV parked in front. I figured it was Hotch coming in early to wrap up some minute details from our attempted case.

I glanced away from the station and saw the familiar sign for The Cozy Cup. As I opened the door the familiar tinkling bell sounded off into the empty shop. The ramshackle set up was practically unchanged, and the soft light from the morning sun shone in from the window just like before. I saw her leaning on the counter looking at a newspaper and eating some sort of pastry. She looked up at the bell and quickly folded the paper and set it under the counter.

"Hello! Welcome to The Cozy Cup, home of the famous French Mud Bath, how may I help you?" It was the exact same greeting she gave when we first met.

I smiled and laughed softly under my breath. "Good morning, Braylen. I talked to Hotch, and he was very upset at the loss of his throwing stars. Is there anyway you could help?" I asked her playfully. She didn't really react, but the half smile remained on her face. "Maybe you've seen them?" I walked closer to the counter.

She smoothed her apron again and laughed off what I asked her. "I wish I could help," she said in a way that showed her uncertainty. I was confused, didn't she remember our conversation from a few days before?

I decided to just go ahead despite her strange behavior. "Did you get my email last night?"

She looked at me and furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry?" she asked, completely lost.

"My email, you know, about me having to leave today. We got called back by the director."

"Oh, are you starring in a movie?" she attempted to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

I let out a short laugh and shook my head. "What? No, Braylen, what are you talking about? I work for the FBI, remember?"

She shook her head and took a step back from the counter, and in doing so, lengthened the distance between us. "I'm sorry, sir, but I have no idea what you're talking about." She closed her eyes suddenly and pursed her lips in a questioning manner. "And, _how_ do you know my name? And for that, my email?"

"Braylen, it's me, Spencer." This was too weird. She stared blankly at me, her mouth agape with befuddlement. "You know, we met the other day? You asked if I was always so talkative and assured me that 27 wasn't too young be a doctor- well actually I was the one assuring you- but you said that we'd keep a tab going. Remember?"

She inhaled like she was about to say something more but started shaking her head. I continued on, hoping to jog something in her suddenly blank memory. "C'mon, you called me Spence? I was here when that strange guy came in here and you said not to worry about it."

"Look the only strange guy I've seen lately is you, I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are."

I started to laugh from exasperation. How did she not remember me? She didn't laugh along with me but reached under the counter. I saw her pull something heavy and blunt out and immediately stepped back. She looked frazzled and lost all wrapped up in a position poised to strike. "I don't want to have to use this, but if you don't leave my store I'm going to have to use this and call the police."

We stood in silence for a moment before I started to walk backwards. I adjusted my bag and nodded my head once. "Well, I guess I'll.. uh... see you some other time."

"Not likely," she shot back defensively.

"Right," I admitted, "in that case.. uh.. have a good day." I pivoted on my heel and walked out of the door quickly without glancing back. The bell didn't tinkle joyfully like it usually did, but rang harshly as I left, as if it was mocking me on the botched scene.

What was going on? Why didn't she remember me? I didn't have answers, and that bothered me, mostly because it meant that I couldn't find a solution.

I arrived at the station in a daze. I felt like I was in a mental fog as everyone else arrived as it neared our departure time. Why didn't she recognize me? Could she have been in an accident recently? It would explain the sudden memory loss. But she looked healthy. JJ touched my shoulder as I stared out into nothing while leaning back in a chair. "Spence?" It startled me but she smiled slightly, "It's time to go. Everyone's getting ready."

"Oh, right," I mumbled.

I followed her to the cars and we drove over to where our jet was. Everyone had different forms of coffee or tea in to-go cups, everyone except for me. "Didn't you say you were going to grab something before we left?" Hotch asked me quietly, leaning down to my ear level as he moved to his seat.

"I just, changed my mind... I guess," I replied lamely.

He didn't say anything more but went to get comfortable for the flight. I looked around the cabin, seeing if there was something to take my mind off the events from the morning. Rossi was sipping something steaming in his hand while reading a newspaper.

_The same one she was reading..._

I forced myself to look away from him and focus on someone else. Prentiss and JJ were chatting about something, I couldn't hear from my seat, and their window shade was open. The sun radiated off of JJ's blonde hair and it looked golden.

_Just like hers..._

I closed my eyes forcefully and rubbed them to get the image of her bouncy ponytail out of my head.

"Spence?" I opened them and saw that JJ was looking at me with a cocked head. "Is something wrong?" Even her eyes reminded me of Braylen.

_They could never match up to that pale blue color that shone as brightly as her smile -_

"Nope," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just anxious about going back."

"Yeah," Prentiss agreed with me, "it'll be interesting seeing how the director handles the paperwork on this."

I chuckled lightly but it was all fake. I stood up and excused myself to the cabin bathroom. I needed to sit and think, even if it was in a space that induced claustrophobia. Why couldn't I get her out of my head?

_Just don't think about her, just forget about her. She obviously didn't know who you were, what's the use in trying?_

But no matter what I tried telling myself to justify the situation I couldn't shake the feeling that the floor had been ripped up from under my feet. I was in emotional freefall, and there was nothing I could do about it.

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**D: it's ok to shed the manly tears! Let's hope this gets better...**


	7. Chapter 7

**hey guys! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Merry Newtonmas, or Happy Burfmas to anyone with a December birthday! Sorry for the wait, I know I left quite a big cliffy from the last chapter, and thank you _jmdernier _for your review ;) it will all make sense in due time. This chapter has a time jump from 6, so if you need to refresh what happened feel free. Enjoy!**

**P.S. There are three different POVs in this chapter, do you think you can name them all? lol ;)**

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"Reid, I have the last of the report here from the Monroe case," JJ said as she approached my desk. "Where do you want me to set it?"

"Right there's fine," I mumbled without averting my gaze from the paper I was scanning. She set it on the edge of the desk next to my computer screen. I heard her walk away and flicked my eyes up to watch her leave. Her hair was down today, and the blonde locks swayed gently under her shoulder blades. I could detect a hint of her perfume in the air, but it didn't light the sensors in my brain like it used to. Before, the flowery scent in the air would bring memories of warm evenings and fresh breezes. But now, it only reminded me of something I lost.

It had been about three weeks since we left Jefferson, and I still missed Braylen like we had left yesterday. It was funny though, after we got back it wasn't two days later that she emailed me. I remember it exactly:

_Dr. Spence,_  
_Where'd you skip off to? I haven't seen you around the shop lately… I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me. I'm sure the police station hasn't gotten coffee that tastes better than mine. Why don't you stop by later and we can catch up. You never told me if your boss- Hotch right?—found his throwing stars._  
_Braylen :)_

It was as if she had no recollection of what had happened when I came in to say goodbye. How she had threatened to call the police and thought me to be a deranged stranger, nothing. I tried to figure out reasons to explain this strange behavior but nothing came to mind. I had fought with the choice between confronting the issue or letting it be. The latter option won. I emailed her back and came up with some story, not too far from the original reason, as to why I hadn't come by lately.

_Braylen,_  
_Something came up while we were searching through some of the evidence and we all had to come back to Quantico. It was close to 1 a.m. when we left so I knew you wouldn't be at the Cozy Cup. Hotch has had us completely swamped since we got back, so I haven't had the chance to email you. I'm sorry, forgive me?_  
_Spencer_

It sounded ridiculous whenever I read it back to myself, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just come out and say "Braylen, you seem to have some sort of acute memory loss, you should probably see a doctor about that. By the way, you almost threw me out and were about to call the police." How would that have come across to her? I shook the mess out of my head.

After that day, we kept up a steady chain of emails. Nothing really substantial, but I looked forward to each and every message. Being surrounded by death and darkness dragged you down in a way that couldn't be expressed in words. When I talked to her, it felt like some light had come into my vision. Cheesy, I know, but sometimes the best poets were all about the cliché.

Every now and then I would get an email from her that would throw me off, but I would just have to remind myself the reasoning behind the strange words. The first one still stays with me:

_Excuse me, I'm not going to give you my name, but I have a rather important question to ask you. I've noticed that there are a lot of emails from this address in my inbox. Could you stop emailing me? Because frankly, I have no idea who you are. Maybe you just have the wrong email? Well, whatever the case may be, please stop._

I've wondered if she never noticed all the emails she had sent me first. Granted not everyone goes through their inboxes as methodically as I do. From that point on I started keeping a log of when she would ask me to stop contacting her and how far apart each one was. At that point, the dates were pretty sporadic, so I had nothing to build off of.

A finger snap brought my eyes up from my paper. It was Morgan smiling down at me. He had the trace of a snicker in his voice. "Welcome back to reality, kid."

I chuckled once in a muffled smile as I rubbed my face with my eyes, showing that I was attempting to bring my focus to him. "What can I do for you, sir?" I said in a false voice.

He brought his hand to his chin and pretended to stroke his goatee. "Well, Wadsworth, for my first dish I'd like the fillet mignon, you can skip the salad, with a nice glass of Jack." I couldn't help but laugh. When he wasn't angry and letting out swear words, Derek was someone I could go to when I needed a mood lightener. "Anyways, I need that case file from the –"

"The Monroe case, right?" I cut in.

He nodded once and I handed him the paper I had been reading along with the file JJ had brought. He opened up the folder and shook his head. "It's a shame," he muttered. "To think that something this low is an everyday thing for these people." I gave a noncommittal response and opened up my inbox; maybe she had answered my last reply. Would today be a good day? "What're you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just expecting word from this library over in Wisconsin about a presentation on what we do. I'm supposed to be a guest speaker and their boss said they would get back to me as soon as she could but it's been a few days so…" I drifted off as I started to ramble.

"Alright then, lover boy," he smirked with a wink.

My stomach dropped and my mouth grew dry. I cleared my throat, "W-what makes you say that?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, Reid, it's alright. I was just messing around." He messed his hand in my hair and laughed before walking away. "Have fun in Wisconsin!" he called over his shoulder.

As he walked away I thought over what he said. I knew he was joking, but could there have been any possible way of him knowing the truth? I needed a break.

But not then.

I heard the familiar _ping_ and my eyes instantly went to the highlighted bar across the screen.

_1 new message.  
_  
I glanced up to make sure that no one was coming over to talk to me then dived right in.

"Aaron, I just don't believe that's the best idea for this department."

"I understand, but you can't ignore evidence as big as a new victim," I told Strauss as she adjusted some papers on her desk; she was avoiding my eyes.

"Aaron," she repeated, sighing with slight agitation, "why do you always insist on challenging me?"

"There's no challenge here," I retorted, "just the truth."

She took off the glasses that perched at the end of her nose and exhaled. "Aaron. I've reviewed the case file that you've presented, and I can see no possible evidence linking this with your previous case in Jefferson. There is an obvious change in method, and there is nothing left behind as with the previous murders. I'm standing by my decision of keeping you and your team here." She looked down at her desk with the unspoken signal for me to leave. I remained standing.

"The victim is in the same age bracket as the others, and there were signs that he was strangled with the same sort of weapon like before." She ignored me, so I continued. "I've also spoken with some of the officers at the station back in Jefferson, and they seem to think that there is a definite link." This was a lie, but I decided to see how well she had read over the case file.

The director looked at me with a challenge stare. "Oh? Could you bring me into the light on this, 'definite link'?"

"After finding the picture that the suspect was using at the crime scene, their lab techs were able to piece it together and see the entirety of the photo."

"According to the report Lieutenant Turner sent me, they were unable to get a positive ID from the photograph," her eyes shone malevolently while she shot down my ammunition.

"There was also some DNA left at the site of Mr. Juan's murder that they ran for a match," I added, not backing down despite my position.

"But if you recall, Aaron, those were only partial prints, not enough to convict someone." I saw the hint of a smirk in the corner of her mouth while she gained the upper hand. She stood from her chair and walked over to the window, gazing out at the scenery beyond it. "If you were looking out for your team as you say you are, you would understand the consequences of your actions and end this."

"I am looking out for my team," I shot back, "and I've decided that we're going to go as a second opinion to the Jefferson Police Department, despite your belief that there is nothing for us there."

Her shoulders tensed as she inhaled. The tension in the room was palpable. "I would have to advise you against that." She kept her face forward as she spoke.

"I feel that my team will be able to help solve this murder and stop whoever is terrorizing that town. Isn't it in our duty as F.B.I. agents to work to our best abilities? How can we stand by that while we let this man go free?"

"The authorities in Jefferson are perfectly able to solve this themselves."

"If that was the case, then they would have stopped him after the first victim, Owen Matthews, before five other civilians had to fall victim."

She turned towards me and glared, but her hard mouth line betrayed nothing of her feelings. "There have only been four other victims."

"He is a victim," I emphasized as I held up the picture of the newest crime scene from Jefferson.

The silence dragged on as we both asserted ourselves. Finally, she exhaled through her nose and put on a fake smile. "Fine, if you feel you must, I will remind you that if there proves to be nothing, I will have to remove you from this department."

My stomach flipped at her words but I didn't let it show on my face. "I assure you, there will be no need for that." Pivoting on my heel, I left the room, leaving any chance for her to stop me behind.

My legs twitched and I shook my foot on the ground. I was sitting in the arm chair with patches all over it while I waited for the phone to ring. She was taking forever. God, just pick up the damn phone once in a while.

A jolt of energy shot through me, and I jumped up from my seat. In doing so, I knocked over an empty beer bottle and it crashed to the floor. The place was a pig sty. My fists came up to my face and I groaned in frustration.

"Why can't you just do it right!" I screamed. I slammed my palm against the wall and one of the frames came crashing to the floor, cracking the glass. Just then, the phone rang.

I stared at it with contempt and let it go to the answering machine, let her see how it felt.

_"Noah, if you're not going to answer when I call you back then I'm just going to stop all together."  
_  
My face fell in panic while there was a slight pause in the message. I raced over to where the phone was on its dock and jammed the button. "No, wait, I'm here."

"What is it, we already talked before," she said, annoyed.

"That doesn't count, you were busy working. Just like that time when that guy was there," I spat out the word. He had no right to be there.

"Noah, leave it alone. What's so urgent that you left me three messages? Hmm?" She was getting angry with me. She was always getting angry with me.

"I did something… bad…" I murmured.

"That doesn't really surprise me."

"I just, I had to, it was getting too strong…"

Her voice softened a little but I could still hear the annoyance. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need to see you, please…" I closed my eyes and tried to picture her face. It always calmed me down.

"You know that's not going to happen," she said.

"Please, Braylen, I haven't asked for a long time—"

"Noah, I said no," she snapped, and hung up.

The dial tone rang in my ear and my mouth started to go dry. She just hung up. She didn't even give me a chance. I went and sat back down in the chair and pulled my knees up to my chest. Then I put them back down on the floor; I couldn't get dirt on the furniture.

I'd call her again tomorrow, yeah, that's it. Maybe she just had a hard day and was too busy to meet up right now.

Yeah, that's it.

I did a bad thing… a bad, bad thing…


End file.
